


Sea and Snow

by neuxue



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M, Zutara, Zutara Month, mentions of Ozai and Azula
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 12:13:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neuxue/pseuds/neuxue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Festivals only remind Zuko of what he has lost, until Katara takes him to the South Pole for their Winter Solstice. Written for Day 13 of Zutara Month 2012: Festival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sea and Snow

There is a three-day festival in the Fire Nation to celebrate the end of the war. As Fire Lord, Zuko is expected to make apperances and speeches, to expound on the growth and prosperity of the Fire Nation in recent years, to invite and shake hands with visiting diplomats and representatives of the other nations. He is expected to smile occasionally, to join the rest of his nation in celebrating victory, prosperity, and rebirth.  
  
He has grown to hate festivals. To the rest, they mark another year of peace, another year since the fall of a tyrant and a madman.  
  
To Zuko, each day is nothing more than a reminder of the family he lost.  
  
 _My sister._ The first day of the festival is in honour of his defeat of Azula in the Comet’s Agni Kai. Songs are sung, dances danced, plays performed about his bravery. Firebending performers sometimes re-enact the battle as fireworks in blue and orange fill the sky with light. But all Zuko can see is Azula’s face. _I broke her_. Her lightning, directed at Katara. _They forget Katara. They forget I could never have won without her._ The tale is told and sung and played of his victory, and few seem to remember that he lost. _I lost the Agni Kai, I lost Azula._  
  
 _My father._ The second day celebrates the Avatar, how he rid the world of Ozai. They praise his daring, his cleverness. They praise his mercy, his devotion to peace. Zuko thinks of the portrait of his family, his father’s hand on his shoulder. _My father is gone, there is no mercy in that_. He touches the scar on his face, thinks of falling to his knees and looking up at his father with a tear-stained face. Of the fire that marked him. _Ozai is alive, there is no mercy in that._  
  
 _Myself,_ he sometimes thinks on the third day, the day that honours his coronation. He was never born to be Fire Lord, no matter what Iroh says. When he puts on the robes, sets the golden flame in his topknot, stands on the balcony to address his people, he never feels like himself. He has to look into the mirror to remember.  
  
 _My mother_. His birthday is a national holiday, of course. These festivities are always more tedious than painful, but he can’t help thinking of his mother, wondering where she is, if she is alive. He wonders if she would recognise him. _Would she be proud?_  
  
The other nations have their celebrations and festivals as well, and as Fire Lord it is his duty to attend some each year, as a show of unity and good faith. So he learns the customs and traditions, he wears the golden flame and says his thanks for their welcome, shakes the hands of kings and chiefs and lords and ladies. It is a mask not unlike the one he once wore to become the Blue Spirit. Now he becomes the Fire Lord, while Zuko remains hidden underneath, remembering.  
  
 _Lu Ten._ In the Earth Kingdom, they still celebrate the end of Iroh’s six hundred day siege. Zuko and Iroh have both attended, of course. But even his uncle’s laughter was missing that day. Many thought it was due to wounded pride, to memories of failure. Zuko knows better, and mourns for his cousin who was like a brother. _The closest to a sibling I had_ , he thinks, and immediately feels the guilt flood through him. But Iroh is his father in all but name, and Lu Ten was Zuko’s only playmate; the only one who didn’t set his friends on fire or tell him his father wanted him dead, or try to kill him.  
  
 _My crew._ The Northern Water Tribe holds a formal ceremony on the day of the Siege of the North. They pray for their own losses, and thank the Ocean and Moon spirits for helping them to defeat their enemies. My only friends, Zuko thinks, remembering the crew of exiles who stayed with him during his banishment. They were gruff and often unfriendly, but Lin knew all his favourite foods, Fa Yi played the tsungi horn better than Iroh, and all of them sailed into a storm for him. _And now they’re dead._  
  
Katara had noticed how quiet he was one year during the Festival of the Comet. She had knocked softly on his door and entered to find him sitting motionless in front of the mirror, trying to find himself in his face. Or maybe he was trying to find his father. Or his mother. He can’t remember. But he had told her, then. Of his father, his sister, his cousin his crew. Himself.  
  
And he had looked down, ashamed that he was being so weak, so petty, so ungrateful. But she had simply removed the golden flame from his hair so that it fell around his face, told him to look at himself. She had kissed his cheek, told him softly that she saw him, that he was not lost.  
  
“We all carry ghosts,” she had said.  
  
Most importantly, she had understood. She came most years for the festivities, to do her part for diplomacy, to shake the same hands he shook, to smile and applaud when he spoke. To hold him in her arms and help shoulder the burden of his ghosts, for a time. To look into his eyes and see Zuko behind the mask of the Fire Lord. To bring him back.  
  
So he is surprised and wary when she invites him to join her in the South Pole for the celebration of the Festival of Lights, the Winter Solstice. It is not one he has attended, or even heard of. When he writes back to ask – he cannot respectfully attend another nation’s celebrations as Fire Lord without knowing what is expected, after all – she replies that it is an old custom, one that the Southern Water Tribe has been practicing for years, but that it has been kept small and private, for family and close friends. He need only come as hers.  
  
So when he lands his ship at the South Pole it is in a small and unremarkable ship. His hair is loose around his face, and while he wears the red and gold of his nation, he has replaced his formal robes and his armour with warm silks and furs. There is no fanfare, no parade, no welcoming party but Katara and her family. She runs to greet him, throwing her arms around him and smiling. Behind her, Hakoda and Sokka stand with an elderly woman he vaguely remembers to be Kanna. They smile warmly at him, and do not ask for speeches.  
  
Instead he is invited to join them at their family meal on the eve of the Solstice, the longest night of the year. As the walk through the village, he sees candles burning in every window, along every wall and rail, even on the rooftops. The entire village glitters as the gently falling snow catches the candlelight, and Zuko cannot help staring in amazement. He has seen many sides of fire, both beautiful and deadly. He has seen nearly as many sides of ice. But never has he seen the two together like this, beautiful and peaceful.  
  
“We light the candles to celebrate light on the night of the greatest darkness,” says Kanna when she sees Zuko staring at the flames. “They remind us that the winter will come to an end, that the daylight will grow longer now.”  
  
After they have eaten, they set out again, and Zuko sees that the rest of the tribe – men, women, and children – are doing the same, all walking towards the edge of the ice. And there, he sees another strange union, not of fire and ice this time but of fire and water, as hundreds upon hundreds of tiny candles float gently away on the waves, the light glittering off the surface of the water, sparkling in the snow.  
  
“What are they doing?” Zuko asks Katara in a whisper. She smiles.  
  
“Watch and see,” she says. As Zuko watches, the people of the Southern Water Tribe approach the water, each holding two candles. Each person kneels and appears to whisper to first one candle, then the next, setting them off in turn.  
  
“We light two candles each year,” Katara explains, as her people continue to release their candles into the sea, “one for the past, and one for the future. The first candle is the past – people that have gone, things we remember. The second is the future – our hopes and wishes for the year to come.”  
  
And Zuko knows now why she asked him to come. He turns to Hakoda, who holds two candles of his own, both unlit.  
  
“Could I – I mean, would it be all right if I – if I joined you in lighting the candles?” He asks the chief, but it is Kanna who answers.  
  
“We would deny no one the right to memories and hopes. It would be an honour,” she says, and hands him two candles. “Past,” she says setting the first into the palm of his hand, “and future.”  
  
Katara takes her candles then, and leads him to the edge of the crowd at the ice’s edge. Then she sets her candles down and bends over them with spark rocks. Zuko reaches out a hand to light them, but she stops him, shaking her head.  
  
“We all light our own candles,” she says, and he nods in understanding.  
  
A tiny flame held in each hand, Katara steps towards the water. He does not hear what she whispers, but soon both of the candles float away, flickering softly. She returns to his side, and gently nudges him towards the shore.  
  
He kneels at the water’s edge and touhes his hands to each candle, setting them alight. He holds the first in both hands, staring into the flame. _The past,_ he thinks. _People who are gone, things we remember_. And he whispers quietly into the night, into the water and ice and snow and fire.  
  
“Mother. Father. Azula. Lu Ten. My captain, my crew. My honour, my shame. Ba Sing Se.” One by one he names those he has lost, memories he wishes he could let go, choices he longs to cast away. He almost speaks his own name, but no, he will not set himself adrift on the cold sea. He sets the candle in the water, and it floats away, carrying his grief and his shame.  
  
For a long time he stares at the second one, wondering what wish he wants to send to the sea. There are many things he could wish for as Fire Lord, but he hesitates. It feels wrong, somehow, to wish for one nation at the festival of another. And he is not here as Fire Lord. He will make his wishes as Zuko, and he will make his wishes to the ocean. In the end he whispers only one name.  
  
He walks back to her, and whispers her name again, so she can hear. She replies with his. He wished for water, she wished for fire, and the two meet tonight as they embrace in the flickering candlelight reflected off the falling snow.  
   
  



End file.
